Laugh, When You Feel Like Crying
by FraidyCat
Summary: Set two months after It Only Hurts When I Laugh. The ramifications of the CalSci shooting continue. And then things get really messy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Laugh, When You Feel Like Crying**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst**

**Time line: Two Months After "It Only Hurts When I Laugh"**

**Summary: The ramifications of the CalSci shooting continue. And then things really get messy.**

**Disclaimer: The boys Eppes aren't mine. Drat.**

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**Chapter 1**

Don waited at the red light, one hand on the steering wheel, the other rubbing his neck.

He sighed in contentment. It was almost 9 o' clock on a Friday night. He was headed home, and chances were good he would have the weekend off. One of the perks of being the new Assistant Director of the L.A. office was that he was hardly ever called to a crime scene anymore in the middle of the night or on a weekend. It had to be something big. Really big. Something scary to the politicos. So far, that had only happened once in the two months he had been A.D. He was getting used to this sleeping thing.

Of course, he still worked long hours. He spent half his day trying to find ways to convince existing powers that his ideas to make the Assistant Directorship more user-friendly were not a threat to the entire federal system of law. When successful, he spent a few hours a day actually implementing those ideas. And of course, there was the two weeks' worth of paperwork he seemed to do every day.

He knew he would hate that part, and he was right — he did. He enjoyed personnel management more than he thought he would, though. The only reason he was a little later tonight was because he had finally taken the new guy and his wife out to dinner. He was working his way through the all the Agents in the L.A. office. It would take a while — he was footing the bill for this himself, and he could only afford it once a month. But his predecessor, Lewis, had left such a bad taste in everyone's mouth, Don really wanted to establish himself as different, more accessible A.D. An A.D. who had done his time in the field, and understood the challenges his Agents were facing.

He negotiated a curve. Mike Neville was fitting into David's team well. Married, three young children, he had the motivation to work smart, and work safe. Now that Archie had been back full-time for a month, and the team was complete, they had the highest solve rate in the office. Don was satisfied with that team. He hoped to build similar camaraderie and proficiency on his other teams.

The restaurant had been closer to his apartment than Charlie's house, so he was going to stop at home for a quick shower and change. What he really wanted was to fall into bed and sleep, but he knew how much Charlie looked forward to his stopping by at night. Two months out of the hospital after being seriously wounded in a classroom shooting at Cal Sci, Charlie wasn't cleared for work yet. He'd passed cabin fever a long time ago. His world still revolved around daily physical therapy sessions and appointments with at least one doctor every week. Even after his primary care physician had finally cleared him for a little normal outside entertainment — a movie, for instance — he was usually so exhausted by the time Archie got home from work that they still ended up sitting around the house.

He would be especially anxious to talk to Don tonight. Archie had taken the afternoon off to go with him to his doctor's appointment, and he knew that Charlie was hoping he would be cleared for work, at least part-time. Don smiled as he pulled into his space at the apartment building. Maybe he would call first, after his shower. If Charlie was cleared to work he would be wired — maybe he had even taken his wife out to celebrate. They could sure both use it, by now.

He stopped for his mail at the boxes in the apartment foyer, and glanced through it as he took the stairs to his apartment. He hadn't picked it up in a couple of days. Four credit card offers to shred. Electric bill. Cable bill. Why did he have cable? He hardly ever watched television in his own apartment. Fishing magazine his Dad had given him for his birthday. Flyer for an appliance and furniture store. He actually was thinking about a new mattress. He shoved the key in the lock and kept reading the sale flyer. He almost tripped over a duffle bag in front of the door when he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Automatically, he dropped the mail and reached for his firearm, even though he was fairly certain a burglar would not bring an overnight bag. He looked toward the tiny kitchen and saw a familiar butt leaning into the open refrigerator. He holstered his weapon and looked at the mail scattered in the hall, decided to ignore it. "Charlie?"

A curly head popped out of the refrigerator and his brother looked at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, and closed the door. "I shouldn't have left that there." Charlie started to wander into the living room. "You don't have any water."

Don took his place at the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "It's in the tap, Charlie. I have one of those fancy filter things, it's as good as your bottled stuff." He twisted off the cap and took a long drink, walking to the end of the counter and looking at Charlie, who sat huddled in the corner of the couch in his living room. "What are you doing here?"

"It's not cold out of the tap."

"I've got ice, Charlie." Don put the beer on the counter and started removing things. Shoes. Jacket. Gun. Charlie didn't say anything else, and it looked like this was going to take a while.

"I'm taking a shower. You know where the glasses are, if you decide you can make yourself settle for my water."

Twenty minutes later Don, towel around his waist, padded into his bedroom. He would love to put on some sweats — or better yet, nothing at all — and just fall into the sheets, but he pulled on some old, comfortable jeans and a t-shirt instead. He would have to drive Charlie home, eventually. He headed for the living room again, and noted that the mail had been placed neatly on the kitchen counter. The beer was warm, so he ignored it and got a glass of ice water himself, then entered the living room and took the chair facing the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table. He watched the ice melt in the glass of water Charlie had gotten at some point and left on the end table. He regarded Charlie. The picture of misery.

"So, what is it?"

Charlie didn't look at him. His attention seemed affixed on his own toes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Don took a sip of water and placed the glass on the floor next to the chair. "Charlie, you have a whole house. You live there with your wife, Archie, and our father."

Charlie raised his eyes, and Don saw a glint of anger there that took him aback. "Don't talk to me that way. I'm not an idiot. Can I stay here, or not?" Charlie wrapped an arm around his stomach protectively. "I don't feel very well."

Don's concern latched onto something concrete. "What's wrong? Do you need me to call a doctor?"

Charlie shook his head and dropped his eyes again. "I'm all right. I never feel very well, anymore."

Don sat. That was a new admission. "How did the doctor go?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he asked anyway.

Charlie scooted toward the edge of the couch. "If I can't stay here," he said, "I'll need to call a cab, go to a motel."

Don dropped his feet back to the floor and sat up straighter. "Take it easy, Charlie. I didn't say you couldn't stay here. Of course you can stay here. Just tell me why."

Charlie's arm, still in a cast, stayed wrapped around his stomach. He looked up at Don and stood. "I left her," he stated coldly. "I left her." He negotiated around the coffee table as Don felt his mouth fall open. "I'm going to wrap my arm and take a shower."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

While Charlie was in the shower, Don opened up the couch into a bed, smiling grimly. To think that he was sure buying a convertible couch was a mistake, since he was hardly ever home himself. He retrieved sheets and blankets from the hall closet and made up the bed. Since he wasn't driving Charlie home tonight, he was having another beer. This time when he opened the refrigerator he noticed a 6-pack of nutritional supplements. He took the beer into the living room, sat down in the chair, and thought.

Apparently, whatever happened didn't culminate in a spur-of-the-moment angry dash out of the house. Charlie had taken the time to pack, right down to his new dietary requirements. And not driving yet, he had taken time to call and wait for a cab. Of course, Charlie wasn't a real spontaneous guy – unless you included running off to Vegas to marry Archie three months after he met her in the first place.

Don heard the bathroom door open, heard Charlie pad barefoot into the kitchen. He came into the living room with one of his drinks, looked at the couch. "You didn't have to do that. I didn't even know you could do that."

Don waved his beer toward the newly made bed. "I almost forgot, myself," he said. "I don't get a lot of company. Anyway, this is for me. You can have the bedroom."

Charlie sipped his drink and made a face at the taste. "I hate this stuff. And no. I won't take your bed. I'm fine out here."

Don decided it wasn't worth an argument. Until he got a new mattress, the couch was probably better anyway. He balanced the bottle on his knee, wondering how to talk to Charlie, and finally just asked.

"So…they know where you are, right?"

Charlie perched on the side of the couch/bed and finished his drink, silently.

"They'll worry. Whatever happened — is that fair?"

Charlie carefully lay down on the bed. "They're not home. Some of Dad's book club went into the city tonight to hear an author read from his new book, and then they were staying for a late dinner. Archie went with him."

"So they're just going to come home and you won't be there?"

"I left a note. In the middle of the kitchen table."

"Is is all right if I call and leave a message on the answering machine? In case they don't see the note?"

Charlie sat up again, slumped over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hand. "I don't care," he mumbled.

Don stood and walked to his cell phone on the kitchen counter, hit the speed dial for Charlie's house. He waited for the machine to deliver its message. "Dad, Archie, it's Don. Charlie…Charlie is staying at my place, tonight. He says he left you a note in the kitchen. Anyway, I just wanted you both to know that he's safe. Talk at ya tomorrow." He flipped the phone shut and left the empty beer bottle on the counter. He turned back around and looked at Charlie.

He'd lost a lot of weight, a natural consequence of losing part of his stomach and all the other abdominal injuries, and while the loss had stopped, he was having difficulty gaining any back. Last week the orthopedist had told him his arm was not healing on schedule, and the cast would remain for at least another month. More surgery on his arm was a possibility. Tonight he admitted to not feeling well most of the time.

Don felt a wave of guilt. He had faithfully spent time with Charlie almost every day since he had gone back to work, but they hadn't really discussed Charlie's medical issues in depth for a while. Don had figured Charlie was tired of all that by the time he got there in the evening, and he had been fine with watching games on television, the occasional rented movie, a rare game of Scrabble…most often, just sitting together silently, while Don worked on some of that damn paperwork and Charlie spent some time on his lap top, or fell asleep on the couch. Once Charlie was home from the hospital, he had let relief make him complacent.

He walked over and stood over Charlie, still sitting on the edge of the bed. He opened his mouth to say something when Charlie spoke first.

"She told the doctor not to let me go back to work."

Don sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"He asked me what I thought I could handle, he was going to let me go back, I know he was…but before I could answer, she was telling him I wasn't ready for anything, even part-time. That I was still too sick. I had no idea she was going to do that. She didn't talk to me about it, first."

"I'm sure she just wants you to be healthier, stronger…"

Charlie didn't seem to hear him.

"Then, she dropped me off at my PT, and she came home and tore apart the garage."

That surprised Don. "She what?"

"Dad picked me up, and I was still hurt, and angry about the doctor, so I decided just to work in the garage for a while. Think about what to say to her. And I opened the door, and all the boards were down. I saw them all stacked in a corner, erased. She erased weeks' worth of cognitive emergence work. Just…erased it."

Charlie's voice lost a little anger and took on more confusion. "Why would she do that? Even if she thinks I'm spending too much time in the garage and wants me to stop, why would she just throw away all that work? Some of that was from before the shooting, I hadn't transposed it all to my computer, yet."

Don wasn't sure what to say. To his knowledge, no one had ever erased one of Charlie's boards, before, except Charlie. He finally went with a weak, "I don't want to take sides, here, Charlie, but you really need to be talking to Archie."

He'd thought it was a fairly safe answer, and was surprised when Charlie stood and rounded on him in anger. "Why not? Why the fuck not, Don? I've been your brother for over 30 years, and you've only known her for seven months. And we're even? We're even in your eyes? Why can't you be on my side, Don?"

Don stood and tried to touch Charlie, but he backed away. "Buddy … no … that's not what I meant. Of course I'm on your side. Always. That's … That's why I want you to work this out with Archie. I've seen you happier than I ever have, before, since Archie. I want that for you again. I'm sorry. This recovery has obviously been harder on both of you than I realized…"

Charlie looked at his feet. "Never mind. I'm tired. I don't want to talk, anymore. Can I go to bed, now? It's early, I don't want to kick you out of your own living room."

Don sighed. "No, it's okay. I was kind-of tired myself, tonight. Besides, I have a television in the bedroom. Do you need anything?"

Charlie smiled bitterly as he pushed past Don and lay down on the bed again, curling around a pillow.

"What could I possibly need?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He had been lying awake for some time, so Don rolled over and snagged the ringing cell off the nightstand right away, before it could wake Charlie. He recognized his father's ringtone. He checked the time on the display. 6:15 a.m.

"I'm surprised it took you this long, Dad."

A low, brief chuckle. "I'm sorry. I tried to wait. I know it's Saturday morning."

"It's okay. I was awake, anyway."

Silence.

"They've been arguing."

This was interesting. "Really. Charlie didn't tell me that. Just about the doctor, and the garage."

"Oy, the garage. Donnie. That surprised even me. There have been plenty of times I would have liked to erase Charlie's boards and get him out of there, for one reason or another, but I know what it means to him. So much work."

"Do you think he's ready to go back to Cal Sci?"

"He's not well. But I was actually looking forward to it. He feeds off it. Teaching. Being around his students, and colleagues. I was hoping it might actually push his recovery past this…plateau."

"What do they argue about?"

"I'm not sure. I only hear the silly things. Put the toilet seat down when you're finished, squeeze the toothpaste from the end, don't put an empty carton of orange juice back in the refrigerator. That sort of thing. But I get the feeling there's a lot they don't let me hear."

In spite of himself, Don smiled a little. "Sounds like it's all stuff Charlie is doing."

"Actually, the orange juice was Archie."

More silence.

"You'll make sure he eats."

"Yeah. He brought some of those drinks with him. I don't think he's awake, yet. I should run to the store and get some breakfast stuff."

"He won't be able to eat a lot, or digest anything heavy. Just scramble him some eggs, make some toast."

Don smiled again. "Yeah. Two things I don't have."

Alan sighed. "No wonder you eat here so often."

"What has Archie said?"

"Not a word. We saw his note, and she was reading it when I played the phone message. She just folded it up neatly and went upstairs to bed. Didn't even say good-night."

Don thought he heard a sound from the living room. "I'd better go after some eggs, Dad. We'll talk later, okay?"

"All right, son."

Don flipped the cell shut, climbed out of bed and padded into the living room. He usually left the curtains in the living room open, but he had closed them last night so that the sunrise would not wake Charlie. In the darkness, he could see that Charlie was still sleeping, and the sound he had heard had been Charlie talking into the pillow. Don couldn't make out the words.

He slipped back to the bedroom and dressed quickly, came back to the kitchen counter and wrote Charlie a note in case he should wake while he was gone. He took another peek at the drinks in the refrigerator. Charlie had at least two of those, or a smoothie made in the blender, every day. Don didn't know what to get for the smoothie, and he didn't have a blender — nor did he know how long Charlie was staying. He decided to get another 6-pk. at the store. He should be keeping something here for Charlie anyway. He took another look at the lump that was his brother, then quietly left for the store.

Charlie showed no sign of having moved by the time Don returned. It was still early — not yet 8:30 — and he would have waited to make breakfast, but he had been up for two hours already and was starting to get hungry. He started a pot of coffee and turned on the stove.

Ten minutes later the smell of the coffee brought Charlie stumbling toward the kitchen. He sat silently at the counter. Don cracked an egg into the pan. "Hungry?"

Charlie just nodded.

"I got you some orange juice. It's in the 'fridge."

Charlie stood and made the short trip into the kitchen, reaching over Don's shoulder for a glass. "Want one?"

"No, thanks. The coffee is for me. There's a loaf of bread. Put some in the toaster."

Charlie filled the glass with orange juice first and placed it on the counter, then put the bread into the toaster. Without being asked he took two plates out of another cupboard and placed them on the counter near Don.

"Thanks. Look like enough eggs for the both of us?"

Charlie crossed behind him with silverware. "Fine," he said, without looking.

A few minutes later, the toaster popped and the eggs were scrambled. Don divided everything on the two plates, grabbed a cup of coffee, and joined Charlie at the counter. They ate in silence, Charlie stopping long before his plate was empty.

"I didn't know how much," Don said. "If that's too much, I'm still hungry."

Charlie exchanged his plate for Don's empty one. "I don't want to mess up your Saturday," he finally said. "Do whatever you were planning on."

Don swallowed. "Just laundry. And I was going to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something."

"I want to go back to bed," Charlie said.

"That's ok. It's early."

Charlie stood and walked back into the kitchen, where he stood at the sink and washed all the dishes except the ones Don was still working on. Then he dried his hands on a towel and crossed back to the living room bed/couch. Don watched him sit down, then stand back up and walk down to the bathroom. He heard the shower start.

He had finished his own breakfast and dishes, and was in his bedroom sorting laundry into piles when he heard the living room curtains open. He went back out, finding the couch a couch again, Charlie completely dressed, including shoes.

"I thought you were going to sleep some more."

"I called a cab. I'm going to my office."

Don was nonplussed. "Charlie, you weren't cleared to work, were you?"

"There are no classes, today. I'm not going to work."

"Come on. You're only going in because I don't have any whiteboards. You'll work."

Charlie crossed his arms. A defensive gesture if Don ever saw one. "I don't think so. I'm just…I need to go back. I haven't been back since it happened."

"Charlie, you shouldn't do that alone. Let me give you a ride, go with you."

Charlie shook his head, stubborn as ever. "No. I have to do it alone."

"I can wait in the car, then."

Charlie sighed. "Compromise. I'll take the cab I've already called, and I'll call you when I'm ready to leave."

Don thought. Sure, Charlie could call him. He didn't have to know he'd be waiting in the Math & Sciences Building parking lot when he did. "Okay. I'll pick you up. Maybe we can go to lunch, or a matinee or something."

"Sure," Charlie said, and headed past him for the door. He left to meet the cab in the parking lot, and the door was almost shut before Don heard the rest of the sentence. "I could use a party."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The taxi let Charlie off right in front of the Math & Sciences building.

Charlie paid and went directly to the bench in front of the building, where he sat and absorbed the atmosphere for a while. It was Saturday, so there weren't many students, but there were some. Several stopped to speak with him, asking when he would return to teaching. He felt missed. He felt important. He felt oddly safe, certainly safer than he had thought he would.

Of course, he was still outside the building.

When he looked at his watch, he was surprised to see that he had been there over 30 minutes. He rose uncertainly from the bench and walked toward the building's main entrance.

Just inside the door, he stopped, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He would go to his grave believing that education had its own aroma.

He would go to his grave.

His eyes popped open and he forced himself to the stairwell. His office and the lecture hall were on opposite sides of the third floor. He mounted the stairs slowly. Coming out of the door onto the third floor, he could hear his own rapid breathing, and knew that he couldn't blame that on exercise.

The stairwell was the mid-point between office and classroom. He turned right, and went to his office first. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

He expected dust, but Larry must be keeping an eye on things. He looked at the cognitive emergence work on the board in the center of the room. Might as well erase that. It all had to be done over, now. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Instead he picked up a Dry Erase marker and found a blank spot on the board, not even knowing what he was going to write.

His hand, by itself it seemed, scribbled the familiar symbol for Pi. Pi. Discovered by Archimedes.

He dropped the marker, quickly erased the symbol, crossed behind his desk and sat down.

He loved it here.

He could close his eyes and see Larry sitting on the couch, close his eyes and see students streaming in and out, close his eyes and see…Gary Sanborn, bent over his books at the table, struggling with…struggling with everything. Billy Sampson sat in the same chair just a few months ago, smiling, begging his advisor to help him find a way to fit another class into his already jammed schedule.

Charlie stood up. Maybe he could ask Larry to get rid of that chair before he came back, ask building maintenance to rearrange the furniture, or something.

He ran his hand along the top of the desk and left the office, locking the door behind him, and turned toward the lecture hall.

He didn't know exactly what he had expected.

He had walked these same steps thousands of times, and only once had it resulted in being shot. So it wasn't that unusual that he had no problem walking the hall. His steps slowed a little as he circled around to the faculty entrance. That might be a little unusual.

He found the key on his Cal Sci ring and unlocked the door. It pushed open soundlessly, and he stepped inside.

He smelled the chalk right away. This was one of the older class rooms, with actual black boards. That's why he'd always liked it.

He smelled the blood right away.

He knew that was crazy. It had been 2-1/2 months. The blood was long gone.

But in his mind, the blood was there forever.

He held onto the edges of the lectern and forced himself to look around the entire room. The first shot, the gut shot, had pretty much rendered him unconscious. He didn't have a lot of memories of screaming, frightened, dying students, buried in his subconscious or anywhere else. He did, however, have an imagination. It was the scenes created by that imagination that decorated his dreams at night.

Now, he allowed his imagination a few moments. Imagined the terror. The inexplicable horror. Then, he forced himself to remember other things. The hours he had spent scratching equations on these boards. A look of sudden comprehension dawning on a student's face. Good-natured groans as he passed out a test. Normal things. Statistically speaking, the many more normal things that had happened to him in this room should outweigh one really bad hour.

He crossed to the first row of student seats and sat down. He found himself thinking about a lot more than just getting shot. He thought back to his spinal cord injury, and the weeks in rehab. He thought about killing a man himself, when he and Colby had been at his cabin in the mountains. He remembered the first time he met Archimedes.

And he remembered how easily she betrayed him.

He was glad that he came here, today. He thought more clearly here.

He rose and quietly left the room, locking the door behind him. He backtracked to the stairwell and soon exited onto the first floor. Heading for the front door of the Math & Sciences Building, he opened his cell phone and called Don.

"Hey Charlie. Ready for a ride?"

Reaching the glass door, Charlie saw Don sitting on the bench outside. He had followed him, and waited. Charlie stepped quickly to the side. "Actually, no, I don't need one. I think I'd like to spend a few more hours alone. If that's okay."

He saw as well as heard Don hesitate. "Are you okay? Was it too hard?"

Charlie's voice hardened. "I'm stronger than any of you think," he said. "Than any of you will let me be. I'm fine."

He saw Don run a hand through his hair. "I know you're strong, Charlie. I'm not saying you're not. This would upset anybody."

Part of Charlie wanted to continue the conversation and turn it into a full-scale argument while he could observe Don without his knowing it. A bigger part of him just wanted to be alone. "Right. Look, I'm okay, really. Just being on campus again, I feel better than I have in weeks. If it's all right for me to stay with you again tonight, I'll just be back later."

Don shoved a hand in his jeans pocket. "Of course it's okay, Charlie."

"Don't stay home waiting, or anything. I have my key to your place."

"Okay. Just call…if you need anything." Don sounded dejected, and for a moment, Charlie almost felt guilty. But he was tired of feeling guilty. Guilty for killing young Addison in the mountains. Guilty for not saving Colby. Guilty for not dying in the lecture hall when so many others did. Guilty for wanting to come back to work and not being the basket case they all expected. Guilty for not physically being the man Archimedes must want him to be — guilty for not even realizing that he was falling so short. Guilt was suffocating him, and killing everything around him.

"Thanks." He snapped the cell phone shut, ending the call, and watched as Don slowly lowered his own phone, hung it on his belt, and walked, head down, toward the parking lot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Despite Charlie's words, Don stuck close to home. He did his laundry and fielded two calls from his father. Archie hadn't been outside her and Charlie's bedroom all day, and Alan was growing increasingly anxious to talk to Charlie. Promising to call with any news, Don was just settling down to some serious channel surfing when he heard the front door open. He saw Charlie pass into the kitchen, heard the refrigerator open and close.

"Chocolate. Thanks. These are a little better."

Charlie wandered into the living room clutching one of the drinks Don had bought that morning. As Don was already on the couch, this time he took the chair.

Don looked at him. He looked tired — but more peaceful. "So it was okay. Being back on campus."

Charlie smiled a little. "It was. I have years of memories, there, good memories. That helps. I talked to some students. They seem ready for me to come back."

Don grinned. "Come on. I've seen you with students. I'm sure they're more than ready. Anxious."

Charlie emptied his drink. "Whatever." He tilted his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. "Definitely don't have the energy for full-time, yet. All I did was take a few stairs and sit in a lot of places — and then walked a few blocks to the park, and sat there. Saw a lot more students in the park. Anyway, I'm still exhausted. I'm going to ask Bruce at PT to work on my stamina, this week. I have another appointment with the doctor Friday, and I'm trying again for part-time clearance."

He opened his eyes and looked at Don. "I think I'll go alone, this time," he said seriously, and closed his eyes again.

Don drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. "Dad called a few times."

"Mmm."

"He was hoping we would come to the house for dinner."

Charlie was silent.

"You can't just pretend your wife doesn't exist. You should probably talk to her. Or something."

Charlie opened his eyes and regarded Don. "You giving me relationship advice, Donnie?"

Don was a little stung by that. Okay, he was a lot stung by that. He picked up the remote again and shrugged. "I'm going. You can come, or not."

Charlie shifted in the chair. "Sorry. That was a cheap shot."

Don shrugged. "About six, Dad said. You can use the bedroom if you need to rest for a while first."

"Okay," Charlie said, his eyes at half-mast, but he didn't move. Instead, his eyes slid all the way shut. After a few minutes, Don turned on the television. He kept the volume low, but loud enough to drown out his brother's occasional snore.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie slept in the chair for two hours, and was still going strong when Don woke him to get ready for dinner. Charlie insisted that a shower would wake him up, but he was still so quiet on the ride to his house that Don found himself looking over to see if he'd fallen asleep again.

"Leave me alone," Charlie muttered, looking out the window.

Great. Dinner would be all sorts of fun.

At the house, Alan had an array of casseroles. Comfort food.

"How many people are you expecting?", Charlie asked.

"I couldn't decide. Just take a little of everything. I'll freeze whatever is left."

Archie had joined them soon after they arrived, giving Don the customary peck on the cheek and taking her usual seat next to Charlie. The meal had been strangely silent for the Eppes clan, Charlie's contribution regulated to, "Please pass the salt"; Archie's to, "Wonderful tettrazini, Dad."

Eventually, Alan had enough. He stood and started clearing the table. Archie was still eating, but Alan took her plate anyway, startling her. "You two," he said, and everyone knew who he meant. "Take a walk."

"I'm tired," Charlie began sullenly, but Alan took a glass of water out of his hand.

"You can get as far as the koi pond, at least. Don and I will do the dishes."

Don thought about protesting, but Alan didn't look like he was in the mood to hear arguments. Besides, even with the dishwasher on the fritz, he'd rather be in the kitchen with his hands in a sink full of suds than banished to the koi pond, right now. He looked at Charlie. The mood he had been in all day, he thought his brother might actually refuse, but after a few seconds he stood from his chair and hung back, allowing Archie to head for the back door ahead of him.

Don didn't miss the look on his face as he passed.

Yeah. A sink full of suds sounded pretty good, right now.

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"I don't understand how you could tell the doctor that, without even talking to me about it first. It blindsided me. It hurts me, that you don't believe in me."

Archie concentrated on hanging on to her anger. She would not cave. She reached into the bucket of fish food and tossed a handful onto the pond. "You're not ready. You still have weeks — maybe months — of therapy ahead, and you're exhausted all the time. You might need more surgery on your arm. You're snappish, and short, and I know it's because you don't feel well. I only told him the truth."

He cradled his casted arm with the other against his stomach. "It surprises me how much you don't understand about me. That it energizes me, to be at work, on campus. What a positive difference it would make. I'd have more motivation, more reason to fight."

"So now I'm not enough motivation for you."

"Don't twist this. You've always known that I'm…different than most people. My work, it's so much of who I am. I lost that for a while, I got too involved in Don's cases and the mundane, but then I started working on the cognitive emergence project, getting back to my core, and it … it was like going home. It excites me, my work. And you destroyed it. First you destroyed my chances to go back to school, even part-time, and then you destroyed my work in the garage. How could you do that? When I saw those boards, and that everything was erased — it was like being shot, again. It hurt that much."

In spite of her resolve, she winced. "I didn't know it was that important. I just wanted you to rest more, get better faster." She found her anger, again. "Besides, my home gym has been in storage since we got married. You promised I could have some room in the garage. Then you were hurt, and I knew you couldn't do it, so I was just trying to carve out a little space."

Charlie looked out at the setting sun. "Maybe…maybe we need some time apart."

Wait. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. She had let him spend the night with Don, thinking he would cool off a little. But when Don had called to say they were coming for dinner, her heart had lightened. She had thought Charlie was coming home to stay with her, not coming home to tell her this. She grew a little frantic. "I won't leave the house." It was all she could think of.

His voice grew bitter. "Fine. Stay in my house, with my Dad. Eat the meals my father cooks for you before and after you go to work for my brother. Anything else I can do for you?"

Her hand shot out. The sound of the slap sounded like thunder in the night.

Oh, God.

There was no justification for that, hitting someone you loved, in anger. None. She hadn't done that. She couldn't quite comprehend that she'd done that.

His hand reached for his face and his eyes flashed his own anger, deepened with hurt. Without another word, he turned and left the koi pond.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Standing side-by-side at the sink, Don washing, Alan drying, they heard the front door slam, feet running up the stairs.

Don looked at his father. "That can't be good. Sounded like only one pair of feet."

"Maybe he was carrying her?" Alan remembered his son's back problems and more recent physical limitations and reconsidered. "Or she was carrying him?"

Before Don could respond, Charlie's ringtone sounded on his cell. He thrust his hip at his father. "Dad, get that, will you? It's Charlie. My hands are kind-of wet, here."

Alan quickly dried his own and plucked the phone off Don's belt. "Charlie? Where are you?" He frowned. "What do you mean, in Don's SUV? What are you doing out there?"

Alan wandered away from the sink and Don heard his voice grow stern. "No, I will not tell him that. We just heard your wife run upstairs. Poor girl went all the way around the house and used the front door so that she didn't have to see us. You need to…"

Charlie must have interrupted him. When Alan started talking again, his voice was even harder.

"Charles Edward. This is not who your mother and I raised you to be. We didn't teach you to quit things, especially not something as important as marriage. You have responsibilities, now, and I will not hear any more about it. This has gone on long enough."

Don turned from the sink, drying his own hands. His Dad really looked angry.

"Charlie? Charlie!"

Alan stared at the phone as if it had grown appendages, then looked at Don. "He hung up on me."

Don mentally measured the distance between them and decided to risk it. "You were pretty hard on him. He was calling from the car?"

Alan dropped the phone on the kitchen table, disgusted. "He's being childish. He said to tell you he would wait for you there. Then, before he hung up, he said he would walk."

Don looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Dad. I know this isn't going the way you planned."

Alan put his hands on his hips. "Just go," he said. "I can finish, here. He can't walk all the way to your apartment." He crossed the kitchen and sighed in frustration as he plunged his hands into the water. "Go after your brother."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Don climbed into the SUV and started off on the most direct route to his apartment. Charlie was less than three blocks away, sitting in a bus stop. Don pulled over to the curb and waited for his brother to get in.

It was only 9 o'clock, and it was still light enough for Don to see, when Charlie did get in the car, the faint imprint on his face, obviously left by someone's hand. His blood boiled. He didn't care how small Archie was. He didn't care what Charlie had said…

And then he felt a niggling of fear. Charlie wasn't really himself, right now.

"Did you hit her first?"

Charlie looked at him, and he saw the hurt, covered quickly with anger. Then his hand was on the door and he was getting out.

"No! Don't!" Don lunged for him and barely caught a piece of his shirt. "I didn't think you really had. I'm sorry."

Charlie hesitated, then closed the door again.

"The Charlie I know would never hit anyone. But the Charlie I know would never make anyone want to hit him, either. You've got to admit, you're not really yourself."

Charlie silently buckled his seat belt and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Don pulled back out into traffic. "I'm…"

"Shut-up. Please."

Don's hackles raised. "Hey. Dude. My car."

"Then let me out." Charlie's hand was on the door, again. "If you have to talk, let me out. Here."

Don was getting as tired of this as Alan had. No, Archie didn't have the right to hit Charlie, but Don was beginning to consider it himself. "Don't be an ass. It's not your best feature."

Charlie inhaled deeply. "Sorry," he finally whispered. He let his head fall against the window with a thunk, and closed his eyes.

Oh, geez, now he was depressed. Charlie was becoming a man of extremes, and Don was having trouble keeping up.

"Dad's just upset."

"He's disappointed. In me. But which part should I fix?"

Don sat at a red light, so confused he didn't notice that it turned green until the car behind him honked. "What do you mean?"

"The part where I ran off to Vegas and married her in the first place, or the part where I left? Or maybe the part where I became a virtually worthless jellyfish to be carted around everywhere for an indefinite time period. No, wait, I know. The part where I let a dead guy bleed all over his dining room."

Don's reply was automatic. "He had a broken neck, Charlie. He didn't bleed."

Charlie started giggling into the window. A hand crept around his stomach again as the giggling continued. "Not fair," he finally gasped. "You made me laugh."

Don grinned as he pulled into his space at the apartment. "Feel better?"

"Feel like crying," Charlie said, and they both sat for a while in the SUV. Don finally reached for his door handle.

"Sometimes, Charlie, sometimes you just gotta laugh, instead." He got out of the vehicle and moved to Charlie's side, opened the passenger door. Charlie was still buckled in. "Come on. We're not going to fix this tonight."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later, in the privacy of his bedroom, Don called Alan.

"Dad. I think you need to back off on Charlie."

Alan snorted into the phone. "You woke me up to tell me that? I'm entitled to my own opinion, Don."

"Of course you are. But there could be things neither of us knows; maybe we don't have enough information to form an opinion, yet. Even if we did, maybe our opinions don't matter as much as being Charlie's family matters."

"Donald, I will not have one son leave his wife and the other lecture me like I'm the child."

"She hit him. Out by the koi pond."

Don heard a quick intake of breath. "She what?"

"He didn't tell me, but he couldn't hide it. I could still see the handprint on his face. She must've slapped him."

"Archie? But…"

"I'm just saying. What she did yesterday really hurt him, and now she's hitting him…and…and I don't think he could stand losing you, too."

"He could never lose me."

"Ordinarily, he would realize that, I'm sure. But his world is pretty tilted, right now."

Alan was definitely more subdued than he had been at the start of the phone call. "Is he awake? Can I talk to him?"

"He's asleep, Dad. You could call tomorrow?"

"Yes. All right." Alan spoke sadly. "Maybe I was too stern, out of line."

Great, now his Dad was depressed, too. "It'll be okay, Dad, Just don't give him time to blow it all out of proportion in his head."

"How many eggs did you buy?"

At least he knew why he had problems following Charlie, sometimes. It was genetic.

"They come in a carton, dad. Twelve. Why?"

"I just thought maybe I could come over in the morning and make that breakfast frittata you like so well."

Don smiled. "Good idea. Better bring some cheese. And milk. And maybe some…"

Alan sighed. "I'll just bring everything."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don thought it would be okay.

Sure, it was difficult to get Charlie up for breakfast, even a Sunday morning frittata at 10 o'clock, but he had gotten up eventually.

And if at first the atmosphere was charged with strain and uncomfortable, that had gone away, in time.

Charlie had finally stumbled into the shower. When he had finished, and came to join them at the kitchen eating counter, still shaking his wet curls like a dog caught in a summer rain, both Don and Alan had winced at the bruise on his cheek. Small. Probably would be gone in a day or two. But still. Archie must have really walloped him.

Alan dished out the casserole and cut right to the chase. "I want to apologize, Charlie. Whatever is happening between you and Archie is none of my business."

Charlie chewed and swallowed. "This is very good, Dad."

"Thank you. I know both of you boys like it."

"It is sort-of your business. I mean, it's your home. You deserve to know what's going on."

"Have some orange juice. Even if we state that as a given – my right to know what's going on does not automatically extend to the right to comment on it."

"Nobody wants to take sides." Quiet, almost buried in frittata.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. And it's not a question of taking sides. Ever. You're my son. If I've ever made you feel that I'm not on your side, that's on me. My fault."

"Are there onions in this? I'm sorry, Dad."

"Don likes onions. I tried to leave them out of your side. Pick out the strays, if you don't want them. Why are you sorry?"

Charlie shrugged. "Could be a pepper. Something crunchy. I don't know. I haven't been doing a very good job, lately. At anything."

"There's celery in this. Maybe that's it." On the opposite side of the counter from his sons, Alan put down his fork and took Charlie's face in his hand. "Your value to me is not based on the last one, or two, or dozen things you may have done — or not done. You are valuable to me simply because you are here. And because I know your heart, I am also proud of you. I know that you will find your way again."

Charlie blinked and looked at his plate when Alan let go of his face. He yawned and started to get up. "I'll do the dishes. You guys did them last night."

Don finally made his first observation of the meal. "Hope you're not expecting an argument from me."

And even if Charlie had gone back to sleep again as soon as Alan left, and even if he had slept most of the day, Don thought that was all right, because his brother and his father were at peace, again. Alan had even promised to come and pick Charlie up for therapy the next day.

And even if Charlie was still sleeping the next morning when Don left for work, he had thought it would be okay. He didn't have a clue that it wasn't, until he came home, around 7, and Charlie was gone. Charlie's duffle bag was gone. Charlie's drinks were gone from the refrigerator. The couch was a couch, again. The bathroom was clean. The only evidence of his ever having been there was a note on the kitchen counter:

_Don,_

_Thanks. Can't live with anyone right now. Subletting Larry's apartment. Close to campus; can walk to work. Bus to therapy. I'll be okay._

_Charlie_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Charlie knew that the students subletting Larry's apartment had moved out last week, at the end of the semester. He also knew that at least one of them would be back for the second summer session, so Larry just planned to leave it empty for six weeks. Charlie reached him in his office at 10, and went for the shock factor.

"Larry. Archimedes and I are separated. I stayed with Don this weekend, but I really need some time away from everybody, to…to concentrate. I know your apartment is empty. Let me have it, just for a month."

"Charles. I'm still grading finals. If this is some sort of joke…"

"Please, Larry."

Silence for a few seconds. Then, "Oh, dear. You're serious. You're always welcome to stay with Megan and I."

"Lar. What part of 'alone' is escaping you?"

Eventually, as he had known he would, Larry caved. Even spent his lunch hour — a time when Charlie knew Alan would be out of the house volunteering at a local soup kitchen — picking Charlie up at Don's, taking him home for a few more things, then delivering him to the apartment.

Larry stood at the door and offered him a set of keys. "Charles, I…"

"You need to get back to campus. I need to not talk about this right now. Thank you, for letting me stay here. I'll pay what your students have been paying."

Larry sighed. "Charles. You will not pay. And we will talk about this. You can't hide from me forever — I know where you live. But now, you're right, I have to get back to campus. Do you have a therapy session this afternoon?"

Charlie nodded. "I'll call my Dad's cell, and have him pick me up here instead of at Don's."

Larry raised a hand to chew on a nail. "Please take care of yourself, Charles."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan was already en route to Don's to pick him up. He wondered why Charlie was at Larry's old apartment, but he figured his son would explain that when he got there.

He wasn't thrilled with the explanation.

He was less thrilled when Charlie told him he wouldn't need to be picked up after his therapy session, or need any more rides. He was going to start taking the bus.

"I've already checked the routes, Dad. I can get from the apartment to the clinic in one transfer. I need to start building some stamina, so on Friday the doctor will give me work clearance."

Alan held his tongue. It nearly killed him.

Charlie paused, hand on the door handle, after Alan had pulled up in front of the clinic. He was looking out the window, away from his father. "Dad. Thank you. For the ride, and for trying to understand. Don't bother Don about this at work, please. He doesn't need the distraction — and frankly, neither do I. I'm working, here. I'm sure he'll call me after he gets home."

Alan sighed. Charlie seemed to be making everyone sigh, today.

"I'll try to give you some space. But I won't let you disappear."

Charlie turned to him and smiled. "Counting on that, Dad."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don must have had to work late, again. It was 7 before Charlie heard his ringtone. He steeled himself and flipped open the cell.

"I need this, Don. Please let me have this."

_Great_, Don thought. _One line and the wind is completely blown out of all my arguments…_

"Just take care of yourself," he finally said.

"It's Larry's apartment, Don, not Indo-China."

"Do it anyway. I've only got the one brother."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

By 8, he was exhausted. He was on the way to bed when the doorbell rang. He considered not answering it, but did, finally. Alan, plastic grocery bags looped over each arm, pushed past him.

"I won't stay. I had all those frozen casseroles, and you need to eat. And I got a few more things at the store. The drinks are supposed to be supplements to your meals, Charlie, you still need actual meals."

Charlie stood silently at the entrance to the kitchen and watched his father put things away. Unbidden, thoughts ran through his head as if on tickertape. _He loves me. This hurts him. I need them. Dad. Don. Larry. Is that enough, or do I need Archimedes, too? How can I figure this out?_

Alan finished stocking the kitchen and looked at Charlie for a long moment. He picked his car keys up off the counter and started to leave, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen, next to Charlie, to speak quietly. "You get some rest, now." After years of practice, he could read Charlie's mind sometimes. Often that scared him. Sometimes it just made him sad. Like tonight. He slid a hand behind Charlie's neck and brought their heads together gently. "You will, you know. You'll figure it out."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had been in meetings all day Monday, but on Tuesday, he called Archie into his office. This was awkward. He had to be careful how he did this.

"Agent Travis. I will say to you exactly what I said to one of your fellow agents just a few weeks ago. I understand that you're having difficulties at home. It doesn't matter how it came to my attention. The fact is that it did."

"Assistant Director Eppes, I'm handling that. Sir."

_Man-handling was more like it_, he thought, and forced himself back to what he had rehearsed. "You understand that as a federal Agent you have a responsibility to yourself, as well as your fellow Agents."

"Sir?"

"As Assistant Director of this office, all Agents are my responsibility. I will not have any of them endangered because one of them is having difficulty concentrating. If you need to request a leave of absence, or to be relieved of field duty, this is the time to say it."

"Assistant Director, I assure you that I am fine in the field. My mind is on my work. I take my responsibility to my fellow agents very seriously."

_What about your responsibility to my brother?_ Again, Don reined himself in. "Then the last I will say about this today is to remind you of the resources available to you here in the L.A. office. If you'd rather not see an in-house counselor, we can arrange for referrals to those in private practice. A specialist in a certain field, for instance."

A smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, Assistant Director. If my husband and I decide to see a marriage counselor, I'm sure we can find one on our own."

He nodded. "I won't bring this up again, unless your team leader or others come to me in concern over your work habits. If it reaches that point, we will have a much less civil discussion. Understood, Agent Travis?"

"Absolutely, Assistant Director." She turned and left the office.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Charlie relished the peace.

No-one was watching his every move.

No-one was judging every breath he took, every gesture he made.

The decrease in stress felt like a vacation.

Every morning he convinced himself that he felt a little better, physically. By the time he was halfway through a therapy session, he was ready to admit that it could be just the freedom of being able to feel however he felt, without guilt.

He was tired, there was no denying that. Four hours of physical therapy and exercise a day, another hour-and-a-half negotiating the bus system…and he wouldn't let himself nap in the daytime, anymore. Which meant that he was usually asleep for the night by 8 in the evening, but that was all right. Sleep was good. Now that he had been back to campus, the nightmares were all but history. These 12-hour nights were the first uninterrupted sleep he'd had since the shooting. Unless you counted being unconscious…

He took care not to hermitize himself. He spoke with his father and brother on the phone daily. On Wednesday he let Alan pick him up from therapy and had dinner with him. On Thursday he walked to campus and had lunch with Larry in his office. When he told him the part of the story where Archie had destroyed his cognitive emergence work, Larry's eyes got so round Charlie found himself giggling again. On Friday he met Don for an early breakfast.

Twice during the week, when he called the house, he talked with Archie. Briefly…but the second time, Thursday evening, they spoke long enough to agree to meet on Saturday morning and talk. They picked a park. Neutral ground.

On Saturday morning, he was a little apprehensive as he got off the bus at the park. In some ways, it was hard to believe he hadn't seen her, and had barely talked to her, in a week. He spotted her sitting alone at a picnic table overlooking the playground. By the time he was halfway there, she had seen him, smiled nervously. When he reached the table he sat down on the opposite side, keeping the table between them. She spoke first.

"Wow. You look great. And here I thought you'd be pining away."

He didn't know what to say for that, settled for "I feel pretty good. Especially in the mornings. I kind-of wear out as the day goes on."

She nodded, suddenly cut to the chase.

"What do you want to do? About us."

He decided that two could play at this honesty thing.

"I want to not be afraid of you, and how much you can hurt me."

She looked at him, looked away, then looked at him again.

"You have Larry's apartment for three more weeks?" She saw the surprise on his face. "Was it supposed to be a secret, where you were? Alan told me."

He shrugged. "No, no, I guess not. It's not like I asked anyone not to tell you. I just didn't know you cared enough to ask."

She winced and looked away again briefly, then back. "You're enjoying it." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," he admitted.

She began to trace patterns on the wooden table top, watched herself do it. "Maybe it's a good idea. Spend some time grounding yourself, deciding what's real, what you want."

"I think so."

She looked up suddenly, decision made. "I'll do it, too. I'll leave the house, live by myself for three weeks. We won't see each other. In three weeks, we'll meet again, here. See if we know more, by then."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to. I think it's a good idea for both of us."

Charlie wondered how to couch his next question, finally decided that honesty had been working pretty well so far. "Can you afford it? Do you have somewhere to go?"

"I know just the place," she answered. "A hotel close to the office."

He frowned. "A hotel? Downtown? That will be expensive."

"It's all right. The manager is a friend of mine — you met Cecil at the reception your Dad gave us after we got married."

Mention of the reception, of the brief time they were actually happy, dried up all of Charlie's questions, so he just sat there for a while.

She shifted. "We got married so fast. I need to think, myself. But there is one thing I know, already. One thing I can say, for sure."

He looked at her and waited.

She blushed. "I never should have slapped you. At the koi pond. That was completely wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Is this the part where I say it was okay, not to worry about it?" Charlie's question surprised even him. He hadn't known he was going to say that.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. "No. You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know that I realize how wrong that was. I would take it back, if I could."

"Would you give me back my cognitive emergence work? Would you respect me enough to talk to me first, before you blindsided me in front of my doctor?" Where were these questions coming from? He really hadn't intended for this to happen.

She stood, climbed over the picnic table bench, and looked down at him. "I don't know," she said. "Those are some of the things I need to think about."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

She surprised him with her response. "Nothing about this is fair, Charlie."

He looked down at the table top. "No. I guess not."

After a moment, she spoke again. "Same time, same place? Three weeks?"

Still looking at the table, he managed a quiet, "Okay." When he was sure she had left, he raised his head and watched her walk away.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Both Don and Alan came to Larry's sublet that night, bearing pizza and rented movies. Charlie had not been expecting them, but was glad to see them anyway.

It didn't take Alan long. After two slices of pizza, he settled back on the couch with his glass of wine. "I was uncomfortable at the house," he said. "Archie is moving. A friend of hers is there, helping. I think I met him at the reception."

Charlie sighed. "Subtle, Dad."

Alan just raised his eyebrows.

Charlie stood to go to the kitchen and get Don another beer. He paused, and regarded them both. "Okay. No questions. The friend is Cecil. Yes, you met him — and his same-sex partner, so don't try to make me jealous. Archimedes and I met this morning and talked. We agreed to each live alone for three weeks, and then meet again. Cecil manages a hotel downtown, near the F.B.I. office, and she'll stay there."

"What else did you talk about?" demanded Alan.

Don cleared his throat. "I think he said no questions, Dad." He looked at Charlie. "That's why I'm putting this next statement the way I am. Get me a beer."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie sank into the chair behind his desk and smiled.

It had not been hard to get part-time work clearance. The doctor could see the improvement that had been made after just one visit to campus, and sensed the change in Charlie's attitude. Of course, it didn't hurt that Cal Sci was in its dead weeks, between the end of the semester and the start of the first summer session, next week. Charlie was allowed two hours per morning, this week, to reacclimate himself, work on his syllabus and lesson plans. When the first six-week summer session began, he could teach one M-W-F morning class, and conduct office hours on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. His afternoons through the summer were to be devoted to PT.

If the first session went well, he could teach two classes during the second session.

Although the doctor wouldn't commit beyond that, at least not until more was known about Charlie's arm, Charlie's own plan had him back to a full load by fall semester. That would be almost six months since he had been shot. Long enough.

Long enough.

He opened his lap top and booted it up, started a new folder. _Applied Mathematics 212_. One of his most popular undergrad courses, this was the one the Vice President for Academic Affairs had asked him to teach next session, because so many students had been left on waiting lists. He had designed this course just two years ago for the student hoping to break into the entertainment industry — which, in California, even at a college that concentrated in the sciences, was no small number. He pulled up a syllabus template and typed in the title: _Math in the Reel World_.

He found himself smiling, again.

Sitting here, at his desk, surrounded by books and boards and classrooms … sitting here, he was happy.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

That night, the e-mails began.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is a pivotal chapter. Read every word, even the e-mail headers that look like gibberish. Important timeline information, among other things. Can't get fanfic to accept actual e-mail addresses, so had to resort to boring old names.**

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0

Chapter 9

FROM: Archie 

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 19, 2006 7:44:32 PDT 

TO: Charlie

_I never said we couldn't talk._

Tell me about the summer you were 10.

**FROM: Charlie **

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 20, 2006 11:15:05 PDT 

TO: Archie

_You don't get to make all the rules._

My birthday is just before the school year starts, so I'll tell you about the summer I was 9/10. I was going to start high school with Don that year. We had two-year junior highs and a four-year high school here, then. He would be a "normal" 15-year-old freshman. As an adult, I can tell you that he was apprehensive. He was a big deal in junior high. Baseball stud. Chick magnet. Invented the word "swagger". All of that proved to follow him through high school, but he didn't know that it would, yet. He thought he might have to start all over, and this time with a 10-year-old kid brother in the same classes he was in, making him look like an idiot. He was very angry, and only got angrier the closer it came. Actually, he was threatened, and frightened. As an adult, I can see that. But as an about-to-be-10-year-old with an almost terminal case of hero worship, all I knew was that Donnie wouldn't talk to me, would only spend time with me when my parents forced him to...I thought he hated me. Until then, I had never thought of myself as different in a bad sort of way. After that summer, the longest of my life up to that point, I began to think of my brain as a punishment. It made my brother hate me.

Tell me about the first time you saw snow.

**FROM: Archie **

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 20, 2006 11:50:12 PDT 

TO: Charlie

_I make rules. It's what I do. When I make one that you don't like, you need to tell me._

You and Don are so close now. You must have found a way to forgive him.

I grew up in Seattle, so I don't remember the first time I saw snow. But I remember the first "snow day", when we didn't have to go to school. Mostly because my mother's younger brother, who was in high school and living with us at the time, was so excited. He was from Arizona, and he had never seen snow. I was only in third grade, so missing school was not that big a deal, yet. Half of third grade is recess or lunch anyway! But Marty made me play in the snow like it was something new. We built a snowman, and tried to built a fort. We made snow angels. We found ice cream cones in the kitchen and stuffed them full of snow. (It didn't taste all that great.) It continued to snow most of the day, and my mother made us come in and drink hot chocolate and change our clothes twice. We even helped my Dad shovel the sidewalk, and then we did our neighbor's, too. It was the best snow day I ever had.

Tell me when you started to like your brain, again.

**FROM: Charlie **

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 21, 2006 3:30:17 PDT 

TO: Archie

_That sounds backwards. Why can't we make rules together?_

I didn't have to forgive Don for anything. We grew up, and I understood him instead.

Besides Don's discomfort with me, I was a frequent target for bullies at school. Even though I was so far ahead of my peers, I still had tutors, so my after-school hours were determined by my "gift" as well - further evidence of punishment. Then, colleges and universities began competing for me while I was still a junior. Our senior year was difficult. My parents were trying to decide which offer to accept, and then whether or not I should go alone, or if one of them should go with me. They didn't argue a lot in front of us, but it's not difficult to tell when my father is angry. My mother was pretty easy to read that way, too. So I went to Princeton still feeling pretty bad about the whole thing. But once I got to that caliber of education, and was surrounded by people who didn't seem phased or threatened by me, but embraced and encouraged my mind...it was wonderful. I could stay in the labs to all hours. I could take as many classes as I wanted. I could tutor students older than myself and no-one thought it was weird. Learning to like my brain again was a process that took years, but Princeton is where it began.

I don't want to talk about my brain, anymore. I am more than my brain.

Tell me how you chose the F.B.I.

**FROM: Archie **

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 22, 2006 5:11:47 PDT 

TO: Charlie

_Was it that simple, that easy, understanding Don?_

My senior year of high school was also difficult. I was in love. We dated for two years. He wasn't going to college, and I didn't want to, either. My parents and I fought about it all year. (Try telling two teachers you are done with education. Ever. Especially in high school.) As soon as I turned 18, in March, I married him, so they couldn't make me go. It was a mistake, I knew that right away. He seemed to change when we got married. He became jealous. His plans for after high-school had been grandiose before we got married, but now he didn't want anything more than working on the county road crew and drinking beer the rest of his life. He started to hit me. The first few times, I managed to stay away from my parents until all visible bruising was gone, but the third time he put me in the hospital and they found out. They had him arrested and put me in touch with an abused-spouse group. This is why I know what I did at the koi pond was wrong. No excuses.

Anyway, through the group I met a retired F.B.I. agent. One of the things she had done for the man who eventually almost killed her, was give up her career when they got married. She talked about it a lot. She obviously missed it and made it sound very exciting. Plus, thinking I could be trained to protect myself helped. So I agreed to go to college if I could major in criminal science and then apply to Quantico.

I ask about your brain so much because I'm trying to understand what you have gone through to get where you are, and why erasing a few white boards would upset you so much. I think I understand a little better. Your work often left you alone, and at odds with the people you loved the most. Yet you remained committed to it. It is your first, and strongest love.

The rest of us just need to learn to accept that.

Tell me, if you are still willing to answer my questions, what is the hardest thing you ever had to do? (This doesn't count.)

**FROM: Charlie **

SUBJECT: No Subject Specified 

DATE: June 23, 2006 12:20:7 PDT 

TO: Archie

_I never said that it was easy. Don and I have both worked hard. It's still hard, sometimes._

Your last e-mail made me angry, and I wasn't going to answer.

But I couldn't sleep last night because when I think about your last question, I fear that you are right.

The hardest thing I ever did was not the months of rehab after my back injury. It was not the aftermath of killing another human being, or the repercussions of being there when a good friend was killed trying to protect me. The hardest thing has not been being shot, and almost dying.

And I know you said this doesn't count, but the hardest thing has not been this separation from you.

The hardest thing I ever did was leave the garage, after my mother died.

The work was my comfort. It was my link to her. It consumed me, like a black widow consumes its mate. And even after I got away, even after Don found a way to pull me from the web it had weaved around me, I continue to dance around the edge of the abyss, because the work is my perfect partner. If I am to dance at all, I must dance with it.

Are you still reading, this time? What is the hardest thing you have ever had to do? (This doesn't count.)

**FROM: Archie **

SUBJECT: This is the Only thing that counts 

DATE: June 27, 2006 9:17:20 PDT 

TO: Charlie

_The hardest thing I have ever done, is love you._

**FROM: Archie **

SUBJECT: This is the Only thing that counts 

DATE: June 30, 2006 4:04:10 PDT 

TO: Charlie

_The hardest thing I will ever do, is leaving you._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Don looked up from the paperwork he had to finish before the weekend, surprised.

Since taking over as Assistant Director, he had moved his office to a former conference room just off the bullpen and maintained an open-door policy to the Agents. Others still had to schedule appointments with his secretary, who continued to work on the Administrative floor, but the Agents always had direct-access. Even so, he and Archie had managed to steer relatively clear of each other since he'd had her in the office a few weeks ago. He hadn't heard any bad reports about her work, and he knew he had no place in whatever she and Charlie were doing to each other.

Now, though, she stood in the door, paper in hand. Maybe David had sent her in with something he wanted Don to see.

"Agent Travis."

"Assistant Director, a moment of your time?"

"Of course." He indicated the chair in front of his desk. She came closer, but did not sit down. She placed the paper in front of him. He looked at it, then quickly back at her.

It was a request for transfer.

"I…I was under the impression that you enjoyed working in the L.A. office."

"I have, Assistant Director. I hate to leave my team. But I've found that it's…necessary to make a clean start in another location. I know this will take some time, and there are others on the transfer list ahead of me. I want you to know I'll take the first opening. I have no geographical preference."

Don picked up the piece of paper. He laid it back down, again. "As Assistant Director of this office, I'll be sorry to lose a good agent. But you have the right to make this request, and I will process the transfer, Agent Travis."

"Thank-you, sir." Archie turned to leave. Don stood quickly and rounded the desk, followed her into the corridor.

"We're not in my office anymore," he said quietly behind her, and she stopped, but did not turn around. "As your brother-in-law, I want to ask you to give this more time. You guys rushed into marriage. Don't rush out of it, too."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie sat in the lightest place in the bar, at the bar itself, and contemplated the drink before him.

When he had received Archie's last e-mail, just before Alan picked him up for dinner, he had been shocked. Had she made her decision already?

Then, Don had joined them in the restaurant, and he was definitely avoiding direct eye contact with Charlie. It could be anything. A case. Wanting to ask for Charlie's help on a case, and trying to keep himself from doing it, yet. Assistant Director paperwork. Something non-work related, even. It could be anything, it didn't have to be about him and Archie.

But he caught the looks, when Don thought he wasn't paying attention, and somehow, he just thought it was.

He should be feeling better about things. The first week of his new schedule had gone well. He was already sure he would be able to handle two classes next session. So he should be happy. Instead, he was sitting in a bar at 10 o'clock on a Friday night, staring at a drink.

He took a sip and saw her reflection in the mirror behind the bar as she approached him. She was beautiful. Stunning. She carried herself as if she knew that. She wasn't tall, but was wearing a short skirt, and had the most incredible legs he had ever seen.

She was next to him then, indicating the stool beside him. "Is this seat taken?"

He shook his head and looked into blue eyes. Even in the dim light of the bar, he could see that.

She settled on the stool and crossed her legs. She looked at his drink and smiled. "You're kidding. You came to a hotel bar for a chocolate milkshake?"

He smiled back. "I wanted the atmosphere. Besides, bartenders make great milkshakes. It's the blending technique, I think."

She looked at the cast on his arm. "Broken?"

He regarded it contemplatively. "Not exactly. Did you know there are physical therapies you can do, even while you're still in a cast?"

She shook her head. "No. But I'll bet they hurt."

He shrugged. "It's better. I'm hoping to lose this, next week. Or at least downgrade."

"May I?" She suddenly reached over and slid the milkshake down the bar so that it was in front of her. She leaned over and took the straw into her mouth. A lock of hair loosened and blocked her face from his view, but he heard her make a low sound of appreciation in her throat, saw her tilt her head back and close her eyes. He swallowed at the same time she did.

She pushed the glass back and his hands clutched convulsively around it.

"You're right," she purred. "That's good. What sort of work do you do? I'm in…customer relations."

His grip tried to tighten on the sweaty glass, and he stammered a little. "I…I…I teach," he finally said lamely.

She reached out suddenly and touched his face, so lightly that he could barely feel it; so lightly that he couldn't feel anything else. Her fingers slowly traced his jawline and slid off his face. She stepped off the stool and leaned into him, spoke breathily into his ear.

"I have a room upstairs. In case you're interested."

She walked away from him.

Charlie slid off the stool and followed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The sex was fierce, and primal, and when it was over, and they lay facing each other in the bed, Charlie reached out a hand and brushed a damp lock of hair off a sweaty forehead and smiled.

"I've missed you, Archimedes."

Her smile in return was so infinitely sad that he felt his own fade. "As long as one of us pretends to be someone else and we're having hot hotel monkey sex, we seem to be all-right," she said coldly. She rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. She continued speaking with her back to him. "We both deserve better than that, don't you think?"

She stood and walked naked into the bathroom, came back out fully clothed a few minutes later. He had rolled over to face the opposite direction, and hugged the pillow to him. "I requested a transfer today. To anywhere." He heard her heels clicking, muffled against the carpet, and heard the door open. "Lock the door when you leave," she said.

He lay there, disgusted with his own body for bringing him here.

He lay there, and knew that it wasn't just that Archimedes didn't really know him, he obviously hadn't known her, either.

He lay there, and wished that the bullets had killed him, swift, and sure.

He lay there, and muffled his sobs with the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bleary-eyed, half asleep, Don looked through the peephole and saw Charlie.

He rested his head on the door for a moment, then tried to shake himself awake a little before he opened it.

"Can I just say that I made a horrible mistake? Is trying to fix it just stupid, making another horrible mistake? How did this happen?"

"Come out of the hall, Charlie. It's almost 2 in the morning."

Charlie took one step inside the door, just far enough for Don to close it. Don waited for him to come inside the apartment further, but Charlie just stood there, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Did…something else happen?"

"How could I have not seen it, before? Did the shooting change me that much? Are my perceptions forever skewed?"

"See what?"

"How controlling she is. How she has to make all the rules, but then she breaks her own rules, and there doesn't seem to be any reason for it, except to inflict pain."

Don frowned. "What did she do this time?"

Charlie shook his head. "I won't tell you. I can't. And she didn't do it alone, I let her. I invited her. I showed her how to hurt me, and then I made sure she did. This isn't right. Being with her isn't right. I'm weak when I'm with her. She's…she's an unsolvable problem, a human P vs NP, and I can't, I can't…did one of us change? Did both of us? Was I an idiot five months ago, or am I an idiot now?"

Charlie finally wound down and still Don stood silently. There just didn't seem to be anything to say.

"It doesn't matter, I guess. Either way, I'm an idiot. I should have stuck to math." Charlie turned and put his hand on the doorknob, and that activated Don.

"You can't go, it's the middle of the night. I'm sorry, I don't know how to help. Just stay here."

Charlie abruptly walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Go back to bed. It's okay."

Don hesitated. "I'll stay up with you. We can talk, or…or just sit here…"

Charlie shook his head. "Tomorrow. It'll still be a mess tomorrow. Go back to bed."

Exhausted, even though it was against his better judgment, Don headed for the bedroom. He stopped at the bathroom first, and when he came out, he called to his brother. "Charlie? Let me get you some sweats to sleep in." There was no answer, so he went back to the living room.

Charlie was gone.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**FROM: Charlie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

**DATE: July 1, 2006 04:44:32 PDT**

**TO: Archie**

_Why do you hate me so much?_

**FROM: Archie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

**DATE: July 1, 2006 08:17:10 PDT**

**TO: Charlie**

_Because it is easier than loving you, and if I make you hate me back, I can stop seeing that look of pain on your face. I would rather cause anger to rise up in you. You have had enough pain._

**FROM: Charlie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

**DATE: July 1, 2006 2:15:58 PDT**

**TO: Archie**

_There is hardly any difference, is there?_

_And why do you want to cause me either one?_

_After I was shot, I know I was not the husband I should have been — could have been. I could not be physically strong for you. The combination of the physical and what felt physical to me — being cut off from my work, my students — I know I was sullen, short, impatient. I admit that._

_But I can't remember ever wanting to hurt you. Or wanting to make you angry. If I did those things, it was not intentional, and I apologize._

**FROM: Archie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

DATE: July 2, 2006 09:00:07 PDT 

**TO: Charlie**

_When we were on the flight to Vegas, you told me that you didn't have a lot of successful relationships, because you had always concentrated on work so much. I told you that was ok, because I wasn't all that great at relationships either._

_So why did we still get married?_

_It was frustrating, when you were so ill so soon after our marriage. I knew you weren't shot on purpose, but it still felt like you were breaking a promise to me, somehow. So yes, that hurt me, and made me angry._

_I never thought you did that on purpose, either._

**FROM: Charlie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

**DATE: July 2, 2006 01:33:22 PDT**

**TO: Archie**

_I don't understand. What can I do?_

_I hope I'm never shot again._

_But I can't promise to always be healthy. I don't expect that kind of promise. I know we can't make them._

**FROM: Archie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

DATE: July 3, 2006 06:15:12 PDT 

**TO: Charlie**

_No, we can't._

_I'm sorry._

_I don't want to reduce you to something pathetic no woman could love. And I will. Just because I can. And in the process I will reduce myself. _

_I am so sorry. For hurting you — the doctor, the garage, the slap, the sex, all of it. _

_Sometimes, I am sorry we ever met. That's the worst part of all._

**FROM: Charlie**

**SUBJECT: No Subject Specified**

**DATE: July 4, 2006 05:10:16 PDT**

**TO: Archie**

_Independence Day. As good a time as any._

_Good-bye._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don stopped at Larry's sublet to pick Charlie up for the annual Alan Eppes 4th of July barbecue. Megan, Larry and David were coming. Alan had worried over inviting Archie.

"They're only separated," he had said. "It doesn't seem…polite, not to invite her."

"They're separated, Dad. That means they don't want to see each other. Sometimes you have to take sides, and this is Charlie's house. He should feel comfortable here."

He remembered Alan's reluctant acquiescence as he waited for Charlie to come to the apartment door. When he did, Don stepped back in surprise.

The first thing he noticed was that Charlie's green plaster cast had been replaced with a soft one half its size. Several inches of pasty white arm were showing that hadn't been the last time Don had seen Charlie. He was about to ask about that when Charlie shoved a backpack at him.

"Can you help me with some of this stuff? I don't know how I got so much over here in less than a month."

Don grabbed the pack and a duffle bag at Charlie's feet, still leaving Charlie with his lap top and several grocery bags full of clothes.

"Let's get this in the SUV and come back for the rest." On the way to the vehicle he glanced sideways at Charlie. "Moving back home?"

Charlie lifted his head a little, as if Don had dared him not to do it, or something.

"Cuz that's great. Dad's missed you."

They piled things in the back seat from opposite sides of the SUV. "Yeah," Charlie said. "This whole getting back to campus thing. It's gone so well, I want some more normal in my life. You know, just me and the old man. And you. When there's a game on, or something."

Don smiled a little. "So you won't be coming back here, tonight."

"No. I'll hire some students to empty out the kitchen and clean the place before Larry's renters get back."

They walked back to the apartment and each took a bag. Charlie closed the door and looked at Don. "Maybe I'll hire some students to do some work at the house, too. Re-hang all my boards in the garage, do some painting inside the house. I think I may just toss everything and buy a new bedroom set. I've been sleeping in that bed since I was 14. It's time for a change."

They returned to the SUV and placed the last two bags inside, then climbed into their respective seats. Don waited until they were up to speed and part of holiday traffic. "So. Are things settled, or are you still working on it?"

Charlie looked a little lost for a second but quickly pulled himself out it it. "She won't be back," he said simply, "and I'm fine. I told you. I'm stronger than you think I am."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

FINIS 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**A/N: Well, folks, I almost feel like I should apologize for that. This story did not go according to my plan…so I won't plan the next one. Still, you have had very strong reactions along the way, so I hope it was a somewhat enjoyable ride!**


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